Be Mine
by Khordealis
Summary: Had you ever asked me to stop this, I would. I would do anything for you, Shizuo So for your sake… Next time we meet, will be the last. AU-ish. Shizaya, yaoi. Rated M.
1. Be Mine

**Summary:** Had you ever asked me to stop this, I would. I would do anything for you, Shizuo So for your sake… Next time we meet, will be the last. AU-ish. Shizaya, YAOI.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Durarara!, nor any of the characters, and I make absolutely no profit off of this story. This is written solely for my own entertainment and that of my fellow fans on this site.

Neither do I own the song "Be Mine". All credit belongs solely to the artist Robyn for this amazing piece of music.

**Rating: M.** Rated for language, angst, dark themes and male/male pairings. Not suitable for minors.

**Warnings:** General warnings: dark and angsty fic. Likely to feature drug/alcohol abuse, self-destructive behaviours, lemons, a lot of swearing and violence. Any additional warnings will be found at the start of every chapter.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

_It's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain  
As if a good thing ever could make up for all the pain  
There'll be no last chance to promise to never mess it up again  
Just the sweet pain of watching your back as you walk  
As I'm watching you walk away  
And now you're gone, there's like an echo in my head  
And I remember every word you said  
_

It's a weird thing, hate. People use the word so easily, so needlessly about just pretty much everything. Yet they have no idea what it means. They do not know what it means to actually, really, truly, hate someone. They also have no idea how powerful a tool it can be, how many doors it will open, and how much pain it can take away. Neither do they realize, these humans, how thin the line is between hate and love – nor how excruciatingly difficult it is to cross.

Me, I am no stranger to real hate. I know what it's like to feel it burn in every single vein in your body, to become your breath, your heartbeat, your food and water. I know it so well. That means I also know what love is. I know it's the key to the lock inside me, I know it's my redemption, my absolution, my one and only chance at freedom. I also know it's impossible.

I don't hate him, you know. Shizu-chan, I mean. He hates me, there's no missing that. It's really funny. I made him hate me with the heat of all the fires in hell. I made him hate every single thing connected to me. I made him into this monster who wishes for nothing more than my blood on his hands as soon as he catches my scent. I did all that. I did it on purpose and in cold blood. I should be locked up for being a manipulative asshole, I know. But what else could I do?

I love him. And therein lays my inevitable downfall. Shizu-chan must hate me, lest I lose my cool and do something rash. I didn't make it to adulthood by being an impulsive fool, no matter what you think, and with the direction my life has taken I have only one weakness. Only one soft spot. Only one thing for which I would sacrifice everything; Shizuo.

So I ruined everything that could ever have been good between us. I ruined it and made him hate me, because I can never have him – and the knowledge of that simple fact is killing me.

_It's a cruel thing you'll never know all the ways I tried  
It's a hard thing faking a smile when I feel like I'm falling apart inside  
And now you're gone, there's like an echo in my head  
And I remember every word you said_

He's such an idiot sometimes, you know. I have to constantly monitor his movements so I can be prepared to direct all possible harm away from him. I have a lesser army of snoops and snitches who work only with ensuring Shizu-chan's safety. That surprised you, didn't it? I guess it would be surprising to most, now that I think about it. After all; it's widely known that I have a habit of sending trouble his way. It's a universal Ikkebukoru-truth that I try to kill him at least ten times a week.

Heh, actually I've never tried to kill him. Only about one in ten of those guys are people I send. And I never, ever, put Shizuo in a situation I know he can't handle. I am only trying to keep up appearances. It's really tiring, you know. Shizuo just can't seem to keep himself out of trouble. If he ever found out how many times I have literally cut holes in people to keep him safe, he'd throw a fit. Shizu-chan is so strong, and he knows it. If he found out I watch over him, he'd probably kill me for real.

But, you know, sometimes… Sometimes I wish I could at least tell him how I truly feel. Just once. Just one single little time before I die. To be able to look into his golden-hazel eyes and tell him that he is all I live for. I would die happily after that. To wish for him to love me back is just stupid, because he won't. His hate for me isn't the kind that can turn into love, I know that. So I just wanna tell him _my_ feelings and leave it with that. He won't ever be mine.

_But you never were, and you never will be mine  
No, you never were, and you never will be mine  
_

I am known to be something of a slut around town. I guess it's kinda true to a point. It's a powerful thing, sex. It seems to open even more doors than hate does. As long as I can flirt enough, tease enough and fuck well enough, guys will give me anything I want. Yes, I said guys. I don't sleep with women. Never have. Never will. It's disgusting. We all came out of one of those things, you know. Urgh. No one has ever complained about neither my ass nor my mouth when I do my thing. No, sir. Not once. So I'm pretty certain I'm a pro at it. Besides, I like it. As long as the other guy does his part, sex is better than any candy, any drug, any drink in the world. I have never denied that I sleep around, in fact I've been rather proud of it. Heh, for about a year I even had it on my resume. Kinda had to remove it, 'cause guys just wouldn't stop calling me. I never expected to feel such a gruelling shame when being caught doing it. I've been walked in on a million times, and I don't usually care. It's kinda kinky and fun. But this time… this time it was a whole other ball game. Because yesterday I got walked in on by Shizuo and Tanaka-san. I got walked in on while having sex with his little brother. I had no idea the guy was gay, but I have to admit he was really good at what he was doing. And yeah, before you asked, I had to think it through several times before agreeing. But then I figured; it's the closest thing to my precious Shizu-chan I can ever hope to get – and yeah, I am desperate enough to go for it. We weren't supposed to get caught. At least not by… him.

I didn't think his face could convey that level of disgust. He was _disgusted_ with me. That just… Hurt. So. _Much_.

_For the first time, there is no mercy in your eyes  
And the cold wind is hitting my face and you're gone  
And you're walking away (away)  
And I am helpless sometimes  
Wishing's just no good  
'Cause you don't see me like I wish you would_

_'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine  
No, you never were, and you never will be mine_

So now I've been running for close to ten hours. Kasuka managed to keep Shizuo's attention to himself long enough to give me a head start, but I only got about ten minutes – and that's not enough by a long shot. I have to tire him out before I can go home. I cannot risk him finding out where I live. If he would break into my place and open just the wrong drawer, the wrong closet, the wrong tab on my computer… everything would be ruined. I told myself I can handle his all of his hatred. I just never thought it'd hurt this much to see his disgust. I have never felt this filthy before, and I don't really know what to do with this. Why am I feeling filthy? Why do I feel like getting on my knees and begging for his forgiveness? Why am I feeling all of this?

_There's a moment to seize everytime that we meet  
But you always keep passing me by_

I just want you to see me, Shizuo. Do you think me wicked because of it? I just want to feel you warmth once before I die. Is that so wrong? I just want to protect you so I can keep loving you. Is that why I am being punished? For not giving you up? I've tried, Shizu-chan. I've really tried. Every time we meet, I try. But you have me by my heart. I wish you could at least acknowledge that.

_No, you never were, and you never will be mine  
_

It hurts, Shizuo… It hurts that I finally find the most beautiful man in the world, and have to live with the knowledge that you can never love me. I guess I really played the hate-game too far. But you're to blame too. Had you ever asked me to stop this, I would. I would do anything for you, Shizuo. Anything in the world, but I can't give you up. I think I'm starting to hate you.

(_I saw you at the station,  
You had your arm around what's-her-name  
She had on that scarf I gave you  
And you got down to tie her laces_)

Shizuo… God, I never knew jealousy could burn this hot. She's beautiful, but then again, I never doubted you had good taste. This pain in me… this is what defeat really feels like, then. This is how it feels when the light that keeps you going is extinguished, huh?

_'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine_  
(_You looked happy, and that's great_)  
_No, you never were, and you never will be mine_  
(_I just miss you, that's all_)

Shizuo… Why am I crying so hard? Why do you make me bleed out from the inside like this? Why? Why did you break our bond?

_'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine_  
_No, you never were, and you never will be mine_

Whoever you are, O dark-haired beauty that took my light from me, I can only tip my hat for you and wish you the best. Shizuo will be good to you. He has to be. He's the best man there is in this world.

_There's a moment to seize every time that we meet (hey, yeah)_  
_But you always keep passing me by_

_No, you never were, and you never will be mine_  
_'Cause you never were, and you never will be mine_  
_(You never were, and you never will)_  
_You never were and you never will be mine_

Shizuo… I love you. I do.

_There's a moment to seize everytime that we meet_  
_But you always keep passing me by_

So for your sake… Next time we meet, will be the last.

_No, you never were, and you never will be mine_

**Xxx xXx xxX**

So, this is my first attempt at a Durarara fic, and also my first new project in a year. If there are any mistakes, misspellings or confusing parts, please let me know so I can correct and/or explain them.

I can't promise swift and regular updates, for I am a stressed out university student with way too many books to read and way too little time to breathe. But I shall do my best.

Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Flames will be used to make s'mores.

Thank you for reading

/Lahmia.


	2. Made of Scars

**Warnings:** General warnings can be found in chapter one. Specific warnings for this chapter: Self-harming, alcohol consumption, sexual themes, mentions of death, rape, and suicidal themes. If you are sensitive to any of the former, I strictly advise to skip this chapter.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

Orihara Izaya did not, as it were, consider himself a stranger to hatred. Neither did he consider himself a stranger to lies, manipulation, pain, hunger, cold, nor, indeed, almost any other negative terms out there. For fifteen years, they had been pretty much all he had. Grown up, as he was, with a raging psychopath of a man who viewed him as both his favourite research specimen and #1 punching bag. Orihara Izaya did not, at all, tell people that he spent his first five years of life locked in a small room and saw no one but his father nor that he saw his mother murdered at age two. He did not mention that he couldn't even say his own name until he was about four. He did not tell people that there was not a bone in his body that had not been broken at some point nor that he lost his virginity at the tender age of three. He did not tell people anything of his past. He did not tell them a single thing. For all they knew, he popped in to the world at age 15, orphaned, curious, and ready to cause trouble.

Orihara Izaya did not tell people that he became an informant, a manipulative bastard, a huge slut, and a public nuisance because he did not want to be shut out from the world again. He wanted to see everything, to learn everything, to feel everything. He wanted to catch up on everything he had missed during all those years when he was supposed to have had a childhood. So, could you really blame the guy for being immature at times? Orihara Izaya considered his behaviour not only fully excused but also perfectly reasonable. He never learned social codes and rules, because he never had someone to teach him. Orihara Izaya consistently ignored people who told him he could still learn it.

He didn't feel like it, 'cause there was no real point in doing so, was there? His success as an informant was entirely because he would dance right over lines his fellow informants would not dare come close to. He would happily say and do things to provoke reactions and lure secrets out that the others could not even imagine bringing themselves to do. Humans were such fascinating creatures, after all, and Izaya just could not make himself stop. Being surrounded by humans was like sitting in front of the largest control panel in the world, and he just loved pushing buttons! He loved poking at bruises and picking at scabs. Humans were so cute in all their ridiculous simple-mindedness; they never even realized they were being manipulated. It was down right endearing. It also made Izaya feel strangely responsible for them. Humanity, as a race, were like little lambs in dire need of a loving parent to guide and teach and punish them, and since Izaya knew how shallow their buttons really lay, he wanted to keep them safe from others who could find out the same thing.

That didn't, of course, mean he cared much for humans as individuals. Quite frankly he felt a very deep-rooted disdain for the majority of them. Especially the male half of the population. He was not the least bit ashamed of his view of most of them as weak and pathetic animals with little in their minds besides money and sex. But then there was that very resounding exception by the name of Heiwajima Shizuo.

Since the very first day Izaya first caught sight of the protozoan, he was lost in a raging sea of emotions he never thought he'd feel in his life. Shizuo appeared in every thought, every dream, every naughty late-night fantasy. Every time he was in Izaya's vicinity, the blacknette would feel his breath become forced, his heart racing and all his thoughts become a hopelessly jumbled mess. He ached and pined inside for a smile, a kind word, a touch… _anything_. Of course, that was in high school, so he had the easy way out of blaming the whole thing on hormones and all that stuff and just walk right by him. But apparently his heart had other ideas. It was dangerous, and he couldn't take any chances. If Shizu-chan ever found out – if, God forbid, he even felt the same – it would drag him into the dirty chaos that was Izaya's past, present and whole reality. Selfish asshole he may well be, but not _that_ selfish. Not to Shizuo. _Never_ to Shizuo.

In hindsight maybe his choice of method might not have been the best, but it was far too late to change it now, and it had proven quite effective. As long as Izaya was left with no choice but to run for his life every time they met he had no time to start thinking about things and do something really stupid. 'Stupid' would be something along the lines of making a very cheesy confession or straight up kiss him in public – and Izaya would _not_ live to tell _that_ story. So he kept feeding Shizuo's hatred. He poured all he had into it, for both their sakes. Shinra thought he was stupid to keep it up, the romantic fool. Hell, even Celty was giving him a headache about it. He didn't care what they thought, though, as long as they did their part and kept their mouths firmly shut. It wasn't like they were supposed to know either! Damn Shinra and his experimental truth-serum to Hell! Shizuo must never know, end of story.

Xxx xXx xxX

Izaya woke up to unbearable amounts of sunlight flooding his eyes and setting off the impending hung-over headache that had been steadily building up during the four hours of restless and nightmare-plagued sleep he'd gotten since he collapsed in his bed in a drunken stupor earlier that morning. He grabbed his head with a groan and attempted to hide under the covers. His searching hands came up empty, and a second later there were no covers to grab – only cold air and Namie-san's voice screeching in his ears.

"Get up, you lazy dog!" she barked. "I don't care what you do in your evenings, but you have work to do now, and this place is a dump!"

"Namie-saaan!~" he whined, but immediately shut up when it felt like his skull was going to crack in two. After battling waves of nausea for a moment, he tried again. "Just five more minutes, 'k?"

"No. Get up!"

He knew Namie well enough to know he really had no choice in the matter. She would not hesitate to straight out torture his poor hung over head until she got her wish. And soon, he knew, his body was going to give him all hell for mixing beer and fuck-knows-what yesterday. The nausea just got worse and worse, and within a heartbeat, he was halfway down the corridor trying to make it to the bathroom before he threw up. He did, albeit barely so. After throwing up little other than stomach acid and alcoholic remains, he got in the shower. He felt clammy and smelly, and hoped he could freeze himself to death with a cold enough shower so he didn't have to go back out and deal with the world.

That turned out a failure, although his headache lessened some. Not enough to be in any way bearable, but at least his head was starting to feel like it wanted to stay in one piece. He cautiously made his way back to his rather smelly and messy bedroom to find something to wear. Some rummaging through the closet resulted in the same nondescript dark jeans and v-necked shirt he usually wore. Truth to be told, he had little else in his wardrobe; most of his income went to buying information and paying rent. The rent on the apartment was astronomic, but he paid it gladly for the security systems coming with it. But it also meant he seldom had money to buy other types of garments, and when he did, they were usually ruined by the second time he wore them. Clothes got ruined at a frightening speed in his profession, and so he never shopped anywhere but the 500-yen stores. If someone asked him why that was, he would smile and lie and tell them there was no point in buying fancy stuff when Shizu-chan or the yakuzas would only ruin them five minutes later. In reality, as said, it was simply because he couldn't afford anything else.

Information was an expensive item, and Izaya wasn't the only informant out there. But people always had a price; Izaya had yet to find a person who wouldn't leak info for the right sum. He would gladly live on the cheapest noodles and water with a hint of tea for a month if it sold him a really dirty secret before anyone else could get to it. There was even that month a few years back when he'd survived on Pocky for three weeks. Since then sweets were not something he took any enjoyment from. He was piss poor, living in a filthy rich neighbourhood. That was, of course, also a part of his success; he was willing – eager, even – to sacrifice his own comfort for the sake of his job.

But that was before.

Before Shizuo broke what little hope he had left.

Before Shizuo forever removed himself from Izaya's hopes of a knight in shining armour to come and save him from himself.

It had been three months now, since that very epitome of female beauty had been seen hand in hand with Heiwajima Shizuo, smiling like only a woman in love could. Three months ago, since Shizuo had kissed her under a blossoming Plum tree as the sun set. She was so beautiful! It made Izaya hurt inside, so badly. How could he ever compete with those looks? Jet-black hair in big waves all the way down to her hips, eyes the most mesmerising blue he'd ever seen, a gorgeously curved body with full chest and perfectly rounded hips and ass, lips like cherry-blossoms and a skin a perfect pale golden tone. She was so… beautiful. Izaya had never been beautiful. He was underweight, due to various reasons, his skin was way too pale, his hair was a hopeless cause and he had those freaky red eyes that scared people every time they saw it. It had scared Shizuo too. Besides, Izaya was the villain in Shizuo's world – he was the Loki in their little circle of freaks and demi-gods. The trickster, the cheat, the prince of lies and the master manipulator – whichever one you chose would fit.

Three months ago, Izaya gave up.

Three months ago, he decided to sort out his business and tie up the loose ends.

Three months ago, he decided his ride on the carousel of life was over.

He never told anyone about this decision. But they all noticed a change in him. For starters, he never went to Ikebukuro anymore – only sent someone else in his stead or went in the dead hours of night when the streets were near empty. And he didn't take on any new jobs when the current ones finished. Shinra got worried, since Izaya never came to visit anymore, but to his calls, the informant only assured him everything was fine and dandy, if he answered them at all. Celty was frustrated because he was acting like more of a jester than ever before when she encountered him, and she got absolutely no answers out of him about anything. The only one who seemed oblivious to the whole thing was Shizuo. Because life is a bitch and Izaya had never had much luck with it.

When Izaya came in to his living room/ work area, Namie was waiting for him with a stack of files and an annoyed frown. She probably wished she was home with her beloved brother. Izaya hardly spared her a glance as he staggered over to his chair and sat down. Namie unceremoniously dumped the stack in front of him, not even raising an eyebrow as he flinched and grabbed his head with a pained groan.

"You have only yourself to blame," she scoffed. "Now, these are business proposals that arrived this morning. I've done a brief skimming through, and if you accept these then you are covered for work and income for the coming six months. One of these will even require you to infiltrate a government building, and don't bother denying that you like doing that."

Izaya pushed them aside.

"Give them to someone else," he said tiredly. "I've got work already."

A nerve in Namie's face seemed to twitch a bit.

"You've got one job left, Izaya-san. _One_. And that one will be finished within two weeks even with you in this pathetic state. You need to take more jobs on."

"I said to give them to someone else, Namie-san." Izaya's voice was suddenly cold. "I don't want them." He turned to look out the window. "It's the same old bullshit anyway. Some guy is pissed at some other guy, or chick, and wants me to drag up enough dirt for them to flaunt around in public to get some petty revenge. Humans are vile. I'm tired of this."

"You're…_what_?" Even Namie was surprised, probably even shocked, by that statement. "Izaya-san, I don't know what kind of down mood you're in right now, but you don't mean that. If you want to lessen the workload, I can surely arrange that, but-"

"I'm quitting."

Izaya turned around to face her again. Namie just stared.

"You can't be serious!"

"Wow," Izaya snorted. "Namie-san, you sure are slow to catch on sometimes. And yeah, I am as serious as can be. I'm quitting. After this last job, I'm done. I want you to cancel the lease for this apartment. And put out an ad for all the stuff. Not the computers, though. I'm gonna destroy those. I got some stuff to finish, but I'll be outta here in a month top."

Namie felt herself start shaking at this more than shocking revelation. She could only stare dumbfounded at her employer as he stared longingly out the window.

"Oh," he said like he suddenly thought of something. "I want you to look up train tickets to some place by the sea that isn't swamped with people. Preferably with a good hotel and a beach." He turned back to face her. "You can probably do all that from home, ne?"

Namie, still in shock, nodded. With a causal wave of his hand, Izaya sent her on her way. The last thing she saw before going out the door was Izaya grabbing a bottle of cheap, disgusting vodka and disappeared back up the stairs.

_What the hell is going on with him?_ Namie thought as she got down to her car. _Is he actually leaving…?_

Xxx xXx xxX

Izaya curled back up in his bed, taking deep swigs of the strong alcohol. He usually hated vodka, other than in "girly" drinks, but it was the best for getting smashed quickly. He needed some alcohol in his blood if he was going to be able to go out tonight. It had become his new habit. To go out, dance and flirt until he scored, get fucked through a mattress/against a wall/in a bathroom stall, until he felt thoroughly disgusting, filthy and soiled so he could go home, drink himself to sleep and do it all over again. It had really become an endless cycle of drink, fuck, sleep, repeat. Of course, Izaya himself called it "indulging in life" now that he was going to leave it. To go out with a bang, to spend himself completely – it was the only way to go, wasn't it?

Tears began rising in his eyes as he caught sight of the photograph of his beloved protozoan the he usually kept hidden under the bed. It was laying on the floor now, a pair of golden-hazel eyes looking into his with that solemn expression that was all Shizuo. The blonde never knew he took it, and Izaya sometimes felt so stupid for doing it – but he needed it, damnit! Never having been a very stable person, Izaya had found comfort in that gaze so many times he'd lost count. How many nights of flashbacks and pain had he not survived solely thanks to those eyes? Shizuo had kept him on the right side of that very thin line between sanity and madness for years now, and Izaya loved him for it. But it didn't work anymore; Izaya felt his sanity slipping faster and farther from his grip every single day. He couldn't even look at the photo without feeling… guilt. Guilt because, one; Izaya had slept with his little brother, Kasuka, thus making himself a downright whore in comparison to Shizuo – and two; because Shizuo had found love; a beautiful woman who made him smile.

"I really burned all my bridges, huh, Shizu-chan?" he murmured as he tried to stop the tears from escaping his eyes. Because Orihara Izaya didn't cry. Ever. Not when he got beat up. Not when he was raped. Not when he was shot or stabbed or thrown off a building. Not _ever_.

With a growl, he reached for one of his switchblades on the nightstand, and within a second he had buried close to half the blade in his own arm in an attempt to shift his focus and stop this ridiculous crying. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, but the tears froze in place. A wicked smile spread over his features, an almost lustful glint in his eyes and he pulled the blade out, only to slice diagonally across his thin forearm. Laughter bubbled up through his throat, a demented sort of giggling as he cut and stabbed and bled. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and laughing and dancing through his hallway he made it to the bathroom where he cleaned himself up and put some tight bandages around the arm, before putting a pair of deep brown contact lenses in and getting dressed. It was time to go have some fun!

Xxx xXx xxX

Fast and heavy industrial music blared through the hugs speaker system, making both floor and walls vibrate with the bass and making any small talk impossible. Stroboscopic lights mixed with coloured lasers to create a surreal feeling, the shifting lights making it hard to distinguish any features upon the people around you. It was an underground club, frequented solely by men of a certain orientation, situated in an old abandoned warehouse near Tokyo harbour. It came fully equipped with a bar, two dance floors, strip poles on key spots, a lounge area, and several smaller room to which keys could be acquired in case of a sudden rise in libido. The keys were easily accessible, hanging by the bar and free to take. Each room had four keys, so privacy as such was debatable, but no one really cared. Izaya loved the place. Only humans could conjure up a place of such exquisite decadency! But, as mentioned, he loved it. This was a place where Heiwajima Shizuo would never venture, nor, indeed any of his other associates.

Dressed in a pair of slim-fitted jeans and an equally tight black, long-sleeved shirt with the fabric ripped at strategic places, Izaya danced. His eyes were closed and he let the music dictate his every movement, not caring about how crowded the dance floor was nor about the bodies either shoving him from side to side or hands groping him and groins pushing against him. He just moved along with it, loving it.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist and he felt heat and moisture as a devilish tongue lapped up the small beads of sweat that had started to run along his neck. Grinning widely, he allowed the strange hands to roam his body as they wished, too absorbed in the sensations of that hot tongue to really care about playing hard to get. It wasn't why he was here after all, now was it? Instead he raised his arms to rest around the neck of whoever-it-was, and let himself be ravished and aroused. It wasn't long either, until he found himself being dragged towards one of the smaller rooms, giggling madly at his own treacherous body. Sure, his heart might belong to Shizuo, but his body, it seemed, belonged to whoever touched it!  
The guy wasn't very gentle, but hey, Izaya didn't want gentle from anyone but Shizuo and since that wasn't happening any time soon; bring on the rough play! Afterwards, Izaya had to lie still for a while to collect his breath and try to coordinate his limbs into working again. No, gentle wasn't a good word for that guy at all. Shit, everything hurt! As he cleaned himself up with some strategically placed tissues, he found blood in quite a few places – his ass being by far the worst off. Oh well, shit happens. When he finally managed to get back up and put his clothes back on he immediately headed for the bar. Nothing like a Flatliner to take your mind off the pain. He hated the drink, but he knew it was quite effective on his pain-levels.

A few rounds of drinks later and another round in a small room, and Izaya called it a night. It was around four in the morning as he stumbled through his front door and managed to lock it on the fourth attempt, before falling asleep on his couch. Almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, the nightmares began and he curled on himself as the tears began running down his cheeks as he whimpered and mewled and screamed. All alone in the darkness, Izaya begged for death.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

Sorry about the wait, peeps! I've been drowning in uni-stuff – still am, as a matter of fact – but I decided to give Mr Foucault the middle finger for a while and give you an update. It's a bit short, and I do apologize for that, but it was just finished here. I normally write chapters at a length of 12-16 standard Word pages, but when they're finished, they're finished.

So, Izaya is losing his mind. Yup. I'm a true Izaya fanboy, and I love that little devil, but he's not exactly what I would call "mentally stable". I'm sorry if the knife part felt a bit melodramatic, but I'm sick and tired of everyone having razor blades in their nightstands, and I don't really picture Izaya to be the "emo-type" either. Now don't get me wrong here; I know more about self harm than I am really comfortable with, having been stuck in it for almost fourteen years of my life – I know what I'm talking about. I felt that this kind of thing *points to chapter* would be more likely when it comes to Izaya. The guy's got no brakes! If he goes for it, there's just no stopping him.

So. Next chapter should be longer (I hope), and most likely be following Shizuo for a little. Which means you're going to have to stand an OC for a little too, but please bear with me! I don't ship OC/Char pairings, so it won't be a permanent problem :)

Reviews?


	3. Better Than Me

**Warnings:** General warnings can be found in chapter one. Specific warnings for this chapter: naughty dreams, bad trips, self harm.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

Heiwajima Shizuo did not really consider himself a good man, as such. In fact, he thought of himself as a werewolf in puppy clothing, rather than the standard proverbial predator in herbivore clothing – which, if he was to be completely honest always had confused him. What the hell kind of sense was that supposed to make? A wolf would still think and act like a wolf, so the disguise would be useless after about a minute anyway. No, that saying was stupid. A werewolf had at least had a puppy stage to go through, so that would be more probable, or so he thought, at least. No, Shizuo didn't think of himself as a good man at all. He considered himself to be a monster, and at times he felt sad more than angry that the only person to see him for what he was was the one person he hated with all his soul.

He hated when that deranged informant would giggle and smile and call him a "monster" or "his own precious little freak" or a million other varieties of that theme. It hit too close to home, simple as that.

Shizuo lived his life drowning in either rage or guilt – generally rage that just came from nowhere like a volcanic eruption; burning, consuming, roaring as it bubbled, boiled and tore itself out of him and making his vision tint a bright scarlet that disabled all coherent thought. The guilt followed like a shadow when the rage had died down some; it wrapped itself around him, like vines or chains, it settled itself around his throat and shoulders; squeezing, suffocating, weighing him down and making it hard to move or talk or smile. It was like carrying a mill-wheel on his shoulders wherever he went, and that in itself sometimes was enough to set off another fit of burning rage and destruction. It was almost unbearable, to live with the knowledge that he brought with him little else but destruction and hurt wherever he went. Even his own brother would shy away a bit when Shizuo showed signs of irritation. He never spoke about it, but it genuinely bothered him, this ability of his. It was like being infected with the plague or something the way people could go to such ridiculous lengths to avoid him.

But then, he tried to think of it as a good thing that people stayed away; if they weren't in his vicinity they couldn't get hurt. Thus it made him so angry that that buggered lunatic Orihara Izaya would pop up at the most inconvenient locations with his provocative behaviour. It was like the informant _liked_ to see all the destruction he caused. It was almost like, and this Shizuo tried not to think about too much, like he took _pleasure_ from watching Shizuo lose his temper. It was sick, the way the informant's remarks could have an almost loving note to them in the midst of running for his life and dodging street-signs, trashcans, and what not – like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Shizuo found it unsettling on too many levels to really even want to try and figure out the reason. The Flea was demented, that was all there was to it.

Heiwajima Shizuo considered himself a monstrosity, thus his great surprise when a beautiful woman, out of the blue, chose him as her lover. Akiyama Naomi was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize that, yes indeed, she was actually flirting with him. Then it had taken him a while longer to realize that she really was serious – despite him being what he was. Naomi was a smart woman, born and raised in Tokyo and a graduate from a prestigious university, of course she knew who he was and what he did for a living – but what blew Shizuo's mind even more than her being attracted to him in the first place was that she didn't seem to care. Like, at _all_. She was happy if she got to cook a few meals a week for him, sleep in his bed and snuggle with him when the opportunity presented itself. She was a downright goddess in bed, and it had him almost in tears that she trusted him with her body. She didn't mind that he wasn't very romantic, any little thing he did for her had her smiling for hours. She was never scared of his anger; she was witty and funny and would practically bubble if she got him to laugh. It really seemed that she liked Shizuo for who he was, and it scared and thrilled him at the same time. He couldn't help but feel that he didn't deserve her. He just kept waiting for her to leave him behind, to call him a monster, to run.

Three months into his relationship, Heiwajima Shizuo contemplated chickening out.

Xxx xXx xxX

The first time Naomi had told him she loved him; Shizuo had found himself at a loss. He didn't know if he could answer her back in honesty. He was very attracted to her, he cherished her and truly wanted to take care of her – but he wasn't certain that was the definition of love. Seemingly being able to sense his distress, she had offered that sweet and warm smile that made him melt and told him it was ok if he couldn't say it just yet. She had all the time in the world. _They_ had all the time in the world. Still, it irked him that he had reacted that way; she was the perfect woman, and so she deserved undying and unconditional love – and thus Shizuo's inability to provide a proof of that made him feel like a downright bastard. When he had tried to apologize, she had only smiled and kissed him and told him she liked to see that he took the words seriously and that she would be very happy when he did say them – 'cause she'd know he truly meant it. It was a slightly bizarre reversed version of "you can never be right when you talk to a woman" – Shizuo could apparently never be wrong! It bothered him.

And now, curse his bad luck, he found himself in that awkward situation again. They were sitting in his couch, Naomi cuddled up in his lap and wrapped in a blanket, and they were watching a movie.

"I love you, Shizuo," she smiled and planted a kiss on hiss jaw. "You really are the best."

The words escaped him before he had a chance to think it over, and minutes later he found himself in the bedroom being practically ravished by this delicate and normally gentle woman. Afterwards, she fell asleep with her head on his chest and an arm wrapped around his waist – leaving Shizuo to his thoughts. He didn't really like being left to his thoughts, as they were becoming more of a mess each day since he met her. It was just so _strange_, so utterly weird that she had chosen someone like him, and Shizuo couldn't help but being worried about her safety. He knew so well that the thugs and low-lives weren't above hurting lovers or family members of their enemies to get to them – and he didn't want to be the cause of any hurt for Naomi. Sooner would he kill himself than see her injured or in pain! It also made him wary, because he had not seen Izaya in a long time now. Normally they'd be at each other's throats at least a few times a week, but now the informant hadn't set foot in Ikebukuro in three months time, and he was starting to get paranoid that the sneaky bastard was planning something. Shizuo knew his games and could handle them, but Naomi had never seemed to understand what he meant when he said the Flea was dangerous. She'd told him she'd spoken to him one time and that he seemed kind and decent enough – albeit a tad immature, in a cute way. Shizuo knew that if Izaya tried to lead her on into any danger, she'd follow him – because she thought he was _cute_! It was unbearable, and caused to Shizuo to remain constantly on edge, ready to tackle the slightest sign of Izaya-caused trouble.

Xxx xXx xxX

"Have you heard the rumours, Shizuo?" Tom asked as they were walking down the street towards Russia Sushi to get lunch. "About Orihara-san, I mean."

Shizuo looked at him with an eyebrow quirked in question.

"What rumours?" he asked as he lit his cigarette. "He better not be planning any more shit around here, 'cause I'll kill him for sure this time if he does!"

Tom shuddered at the ease with which Shizuo spoke of committing murder. Sure, the informant was a pain in the ass to deal with, but – unbeknownst to Shizuo – Tom had actually hired him himself a few times, and not only had he delivered quicker than anyone else; he had also never got anything wrong. Ever. He delivered 100% truth, whether you liked it or not, and Tom respected him for that – as one professional toward another.

He looked at his back up and tried to figure a good way to start.

"He… uhm, the rumours says he's quitting. That assistant of his has been putting out ads for all his stuff online, and his apartment is up for rent soon. Seems like he's leaving."

"Huh. Good riddance."

"You don't sound overly surprised, Shizuo-kun."

"Nah, the guy's never been one to finish any fucking thing he's ever started. If he's quittin' and leavin' then good. One less asshole lunatic causing a mess around here."

"Yeah, I guess. Plus you can be sure he won't be causing Akiyama-chan any trouble either, ne?"

"If he touches her, I don't care how fast he runs; I'll get him."

"I don't doubt it."

They arrived to the sushi restaurant, made their orders and ate under peaceful silence. Tom, feeling relieved Shizuo didn't seem to wanna explode over the mentioning of Izaya, and Shizuo trying to hide his unexplainable unease at the sudden revelation that the Flea was packing up and leaving. It felt like… like a huge chunk of what little that made sense and routine out of Shizuo's life was suddenly ripped from him. It was surprisingly painful and… bothering. Yes, it really felt bothering. The Flea had always been so adamant about staying in Tokyo, despite the numerous people who'd tried to chase him out over the years. And now all of a sudden he was just _leaving_? It didn't make the least bit sense even for the Flea!

Most of all, though, Shizuo felt uneasy about the fact that Izaya's impending departure made him feel uneasy. It should make him feel relieved, ecstatic, hopeful and victorious or any other positive adjective, but no. Spreading like frostbite through the pit of his stomach was an ice cold, sinking feeling that caused his heart to feel constricted and his limbs heavy. It didn't make any sense, and he was rapidly becoming aware of the fact that his hand had stopped going about the manual routine of bringing pieces of fish and rice from the plate to his mouth and instead started to crush the metal chop-stick in a vice-like grip while he felt the familiar volcanic heat of wrath colouring his vision a deep, foreboding crimson. Tom must have caught the warning signs, because suddenly a too brightly smiling Simon was by his side, escorting him out and into a nearby alley-way where he could at least try to calm down before someone got hurt. Three trashcans, two street signs and five unfortunate gang-members later, Shizuo got sent home to get himself under control. Naomi was out of town for business, so at least he didn't have to worry about unintentionally causing her any harm.

After a few hours of stomping back and forth through his apartment, laying down, getting back up, taking a cold shower, making coffee and trying to listen to soothing music, Shizuo called one of the few people who could actually help with one of these long winded anger-bouts; Shinra. But when the doctor finally picked up his phone, after an indecent amount of beeps, he hung up almost immediately after saying in a rushed and half panicked tone;

"Shizuo, I'll call you later. There's a bit of an emergency here. Bye!"

Shizuo just sat there with the phone half way from his ear for a few minutes, feeling confused. Nothing was making sense anymore. Putting out what was left of his cigarette, he called it a day. But he didn't get a restful sleep; dream after dream of him chasing Izaya down the streets, only to end up stabbing him in his chest at the same time as he was making the sweetest love to him caused him to twist and turn and fidget until he woke with a start around four am by falling out of bed. He woke up in the middle of the sweetest kiss he'd ever felt, haunted even hours later by the feeling of the informant's soft, pale lips against his and the warm and loving glow of those slanted ruby orbs. What disturbed him the most wasn't the fact that he'd dreamt a sex dream about Orihara Izaya; hell, that god-awful time at his brother's had given him enough material for a lifetime of those – Izaya was a damn good looking guy, after all, and there wasn't a guy in Tokyo that hadn't had those dreams about him – no, what bothered him was the fact that it had felt so _right_. Just thinking of that kiss made his lower parts rise to attention.

Nothing was making any sense anymore! With an exasperated snarl, he went to take his third cold shower for the day.

Xxx xXx xxX

"Calm down, Shinra-chan," came Izaya's rather sluggish voice from the bed upon which he was placed. "It's just a little… just a little cut! Nothing big. Nothing bad. Nothing for the great doctor Shinra to frown his pretty little head at!" He giggled as Celty and the brunette once again wrestled him to the bed and restrained him with thick leather cuffs so that they could search him and find all the other small knives he carried about himself. They had found him on his bathroom floor, a bottle of bourbon and an almost empty bottle of pain killers next to him after a rather distressed Kida had tried to break down the door when the informant hadn't answer when he'd called and the teenager instead had heard the crashing noise of a body falling to the floor behind the bathroom door. It had been a close call – and Izaya's obviously non-sober and disturbed state of mind wasn't making it any easier, especially not when they tried to question him about all the _huge_ knife wounds on his arms and legs. After arriving at Shinra's home, he and Celty literally just turned their back for a moment and then had to hurriedly stop him from opening up any new ones. He managed to get himself a nice deep cut close to the crook of his arm, but they overpowered him easily and got it thoroughly bandaged.

The informant was high as a kite off of a so far unknown substance, but thankfully his strength seemed to have diminished into near nothing, so there was no real danger of him getting out of the cuffs. After they had cleared a total number of seven large and small blades off of his person, they concentrated on getting him hooked to intravenous fluids and a blood bag to help him recover. The informant himself was giggling and humming a lullaby to himself as Shinra sank down in a chair next to his bed. Celty was busying herself with cutting off the few hindering garments he still had on – they didn't dare to release him even for that – and Shinra's heart tightened again and again at every new cut and bruise revealed to them. He knew Izaya without any doubts had some kind of underlying pathology – but which one… he wasn't sure. He was almost certain about PTSD, after seeing a few episodes that even Izaya hadn't managed to sugar-coat, but was there something else? A few years back he had been certain the informant was either a psychopath or suffering from a narcissistic personality disorder – however he didn't match enough criteria for either one of them, and so Shinra couldn't fit him into any proper diagnosis yet. All he could say, and that with the utmost emphasis, was that Orihara Izaya was truly a _broken_ man.

"Izaya-kun," he said slowly, and waited for the flickering gaze of the blacknette to meet his. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You haven't been yourself at all lately. Why can't you tell me what's going on with you?"

Izaya giggled and his gaze flickered away again.

"Why does anything… have to be the matter… Shinra-kun?" He paused to swallow, and no doubt get his vocal cords to cooperate a little longer. "I'm jus- I'm just having a bit of _fun_!"

"By killing yourself?"

"I'm not! I'm not… I'm living, Shinra-kun. I'm so, so… _alive_!"

"No, Izaya-kun," Shinra sighed. "You're very sick. I need to know what's wrong, otherwise I can't treat you."

But Izaya wasn't listening. He was giggling, humming and mumbling to himself all kinds of incoherent words that only made sense to him. He was, to put it bluntly, a fucking mess. Celty rapidly typed out;

_What are we going to do with him?_

"I don't know, love. I don't know."

_If Shizuo comes here and sees him like this…_

"Yeah, I know. Right now there's nothing we can do but monitor him. See if he can get some sleep. We'll deal with everything else in the morning."

_Shinra! I'm worried!_

"Aren't we all, Celty? Aren't we all?"

**Xxx xXx xxX**

_Akiyama_ = autumn mountain

_Naomi_ = Honest, straight, beautiful.

Hiya!

Another one of those shorter chapters. Sorry 'bout that, but it started to feel a bit forced, so I decided it was finished.

So, Shizuo's got trouble handling the relationship-life, huh? I feel kinda sorry for him, poor thing! He's finally got himself a nice girl, and then all these new problems just dump themselves on his doorstep. I'm planning to let him wallow in this confusing and angering state of mind for a little. So, don't expect him to go chasing after Izaya in the next chapt or two – 'cause he'll be busy trying to make sense of things. Maybe next time Naomi gets to have a few more lines than the two she had now too, and then we'll get to see who she really is.

And yeah, Shizuo had wet dreams about Izaya, and yes, that is some major whitewashing on his part! He won't be facing up to those impulses in a while^^

Izaya… that's one helluva bad trip right there, and now he's got Shinra's eyes on him. That's not going to go down well once he sobers up, I think… And yeah, I'm making Kida one of the few people he actually likes and who likes him back. He should at least have _someone_ on his side, ne?

With that said, sorry about the long silence – uni as usual. It'll get hectic again starting next week, but I'll do my best to get a good chapter up here as soon as I can :)

Cheers!

/Khordie


	4. You Don't Need To Bother

**Warnings:** General warnings can be found in chapter one. Specific warnings for this chapter: Mentions of self harm, suicide and suicidal thoughts, child abuse and violence. Sensitive readers are advised to skip this chapter!

**Xxx xXx xxX**

"Aww, don't worry about me, Shinra-kun~" Izaya sing-sang as he got into the clothes Celty had had the good enough sense of planning to bring with them when they picked up Izaya three days earlier. "I'm just fine and dandy! I can take care of myself, no probs."

"Izaya-kun," Shinra sighed for the umpteenth time. "Three days ago you almost died from an overdose of benzodiazepines – that you're not even supposed to be in possession of, by the way – which you swallowed down with half a bottle of booze! And now you try to tell me you're fine? I don't think so, Izaya-kun. I don't think you're fine at all. If you would at least tell me what's wrong, then maybe I can help you?"

The informant merely laughed at him and gave him one of those infuriating pats on the head, before making his way towards the door. Celty tried to stop him on the way; fingers rapidly typing at her PDA.

_Izaya! You can't leave like this! You're not well!_

"I'm fine, Celty," Izaya giggled. "You're both so anxious to keep me here, I'm starting to think you looove~ me."

_This is not funny! How do we know you won't try to kill yourself again as soon as you're out of here? Huh?!_

"Why would I wanna kill myself when I'm having so much fun, hm? Later, Celty!"

He made his way past her and exited the flat.

Xxx xXx xxX

"Shizuo, what do you think about this one?" Naomi waved a light blue summer dress in front of him, pulling the protozoan out of his thoughts. He looked at it, and sighed inwardly. Naomi looked great in whatever she put on. And, really, didn't she already show him that dress like ten minutes ago? Or was that another? In his eyes they all looked pretty much the same.

_Kami, have mercy, _he thought to himself.

"It looks very good," he said. "That colour looks very good on you."

Naomi beamed.

"Thank you! I'm just worried it'll be, you know, too revealing. Hm, I think I'll have to try it on."

Shizuo nodded and she disappeared into a small booth, and emerged soon after wearing the blue dress and a frown. The blonde looked her over. The dress came down to her knees, had some sort of little sleeve-like thing going on and didn't give away too much cleavage. He just couldn't see what she meant with the whole "too revealing" bit, but he had a hunch it was just something she said to get back up. Why, oh why, did women always need a second, third – hell, forty-eighth – opinion on every garment that went into their closets? If they liked it and it fit, wasn't that all that mattered?

"You look beautiful in it," he said, nonetheless. "I don't think it's revealing. It looks, dunno, classy."

Naomi giggled and kissed him.

"Then I think I will buy it. It will be good for the lunch with Mum and Dad on Sunday. Which reminds me; we need to get you a more relaxed outfit too."

"Oh okay." Then he froze sligthly. _Wait! The what and the what now?_

His confusion must have shown, because his girlfriend laughed affectionately as she disappeared into the booth again.

"You'd forgotten, hadn't you?" He could hear her smile. "It's okay, I know you've had a rough week."

"I-I'm sorry, Naomi," he said, feeling rather stupid.

"I told you, it's okay." She was laughing again. "Come on, let me take this to the check out, then we'll have some lunch. How about that?"

The prospect of food lightened the blonde's mood considerably, and he let himself be led by the hand to the check out.

They went to a small noodle restaurant Naomi loved, and Shizuo was amazed yet again about how much food that small woman was capable of gobbling down. It never stuck, either. No matter what she ate, she remained a fascinating blend of slim and curvy. She giggled cutely when one of the noodle flicked Shizuo on the nose and he muttered a curse as he chewed it down. Cute. Yeah, almost everything Naomi did was either sweet, adorable or cute. From her giggling to the way she drooled slightly on his shoulder when she fell asleep in his arms. He had yet to see the slightest sign of temper from her, and he wasn't really sure how to handle that. It made him twice as scared of his own anger; to accidentally get her caught in the way of it without meaning to. At least she listened when he told her to run away when he felt the wrath boiling in his blood, but it didn't feel like she actually understood the severity of it. To him it seemed mostly as if she regarded his temper issues as a mother would her beloved problem-child. Like he was just throwing a tantrum. Like it was just an act. Like he wasn't that dangerous at all. Like... like his hands had never snapped the neck of a person. Like he had never taken a life.

It made him angry.

But most of all, it made him tired and sad.

Because Heiwajima Shizuo knew he would be the one to destroy what they had. One of these days, he was going to blow up at something and she was going to get caught in the crossfire. One of these days, he was going to hurt her. One of these days, he was going to lose her.

It was really only the questions of when, where, and how.

Then there was this whole situation with the Flea. He'd told Naomi of the news when she'd returned from the trip two weeks ago, but she had been confused as to why he was so upset about it. Wasn't it a good thing for Orihara-san to go and follow his dreams to wherever he was heading? Wasn't it a good thing for him to redeem himself in the eyes of others? And if Shizuo really hated him so much, shouldn't he be the first to bless his departure and wish him a swift and smooth journey? _Those had been her exact words. She was always so eloquent._  
Shizuo felt so strange then. Why couldn't she understand the severity of the situation? There was no guarantee the informant would actually leave, it could all be just another elaborate trick of his. There was no guarantee that the Flea wasn't planning something evil and potentially catastrophic. But mostly, mostly it made him hurt to see that she couldn't see that there was more to it than just the Flea upping and leaving. If Orihara Izaya left Tokyo, gone would be one of the pillars that made out Shizuo's entire world. Gone would be one of the few things that made some sort of twisted sense to him. Gone would be the only person perhaps more monstrous than himself. Gone would be the only person who could handle, and perhaps even tame, his anger.

Izaya leaving should make Shizuo feel like the winner, like the King. It should make him feel great and on top of the world.

It didn't.

It made him feel very small.

Very small, and very, very frail.

Xxx xXx xxX

Izaya entered his apartment, taking good care to lock the door properly behind him before he went upstairs and opened his closet door, shoved all the clothes out of the way so he could reach the small door behind it.

"Hello, Daddy," he said as the small memorial altar was revealed. The man in the picture didn't look much like his son. Orihara Shirou was a man of rough build, with a stern and disapproving look etched into his angled face. He had been a tall man, emanating an aura of authority and judgement.

Izaya looked like his mother, and sometimes – late at night when nothing could shield him from the memories – Izaya wondered if that was why Shirou had hated him so much.

The informant wiped the dust off the frame with his sleeve, and sat down cross-legged in front of it, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.

"Imma go away soon, Daddy dearest," he said in a conversational tone, pausing, as if listening to someone speak. "I _know_ you don't like it. I'm not asking for your approval." Another pause. "You see, this world is no fun anymore. No one loves me, and it so _boring_ to with with them. You know, the humans. They don't understand, Daddy. They don't get it at all." Pause. "What do you mean, 'what don't they get?' Isn't it obvious? They think I can't feel. They think I'm not real. They think I'm sick in my head and can't feel anything – just hurt them. But they're wrong, Daddy. They're wrong!" He giggled, then sobbed. "I feel _everything_! Just like you wanted me to. Just like you _designed_ me to do." He was crying now, clawing at his skin, biting his chapped lips to blood once more. "I hate you. Do you hear me, Shirou? I _hate_ you!" He slammed the door the little shrine shut and screamed.

"I don't wanna feel anymore! I don't take your pain anymore! Do you hear me, humans? I don't want to help you anymore!"

Collapsing on the floor in a heap of cries and sobs, Izaya clawed gashes into his skin to try and let it all out, to let the hurt go somewhere else and leave him alone. It never did, but he couldn't stop.

Xxx xXx xxX

"Celty, dearest," Shinra poked her shoulder to get her attention. "Could you please see if you can find out anything about Izaya-kun's childhood?"

_He deleted the files from almost everywhere, Shinra_, Celty typed.

"They've got to be somewhere, perhaps in paper-form. Please, love. I think it's important."

_You think he's like this because of his childhood?_

"Yes. He doesn't fit in any diagnosis I've examined him for, apart from the PTSD, but that doesn't com close to explaining why he is the way he is. I think the PTSD is the key to understanding him. Something happened to him that broke him, and it must've happened early on in his life, for he was like this from the day I first met him."

Celty nodded and typed: _It might take a few days. I will probably need help with this one._

Shinra sighed.

"I'm not sure we have days, love," he said, before exiting the room.

Celty immediately began typing away at two keyboards at once, trying to get a good start. If Shinra thought it was that bad, then it was probably worse still. Izaya's mind was unravelling at a frightening speed, and she couldn't help but feel a need to help him. The informant may have committed a lot of terrible deeds in his days, but no one deserved to go like this. _No one_. Orihara Izaya was probably the most intelligent person she'd ever met, and she hated the thought of him facing death a blabbering lunatic.

Xxx xXx xxX

_/"It's 2:04 am. The subject is stable, and is so far showing no signs of negative response to the procedure. Heart rate and respiratory functions are performing at normal levels. Blood pressure slightly elevated, within normal levels post-procedure. EEG readings coming out as predicted."_

_Izaya slowly opened his eyes at the sound of a familiar, unemotional voice next to his bed. A man dressed in an attire of shirt, slacks and a white lab-coat was monitoring the various machines connected to- Oh God, they were connected to him! Izaya looked down and realised his thin, pre-pubescent frame was covered in IV-tubes – some clear, some bloodfilled – and electrodes monitoring his heart and brain activity. The rest of him was, as per usual, covered in either bruises, scabs, or bandages. He wanted to move, but his body felt so heavy, like he had stone for bones, and everything kept floating in and out of focus. A small attempt to move his arm to rub his eyes alerted him to the fact that he was strapped to the bed. Oh God, no! Oh God, oh God, oh God! He had no sooner realised this when pain flared through his entire body, making him cry out and whimper._

_The older man turned to look at him, no emotions visible in his eyes other than a professional sort of curiosity. He raised a small recording instrument he was carrying, and as he started poking and prodding, and __**ohGodhowmuchthathurt**__, he said into the small mic:_

"_It's 2:11. The subject is waking up at a higher than average speed, as we anticipated. Basic motor-functions appear to be working normally, and the subjects pain-levels seems to be experienced as predicted. Injecting one point five millilitre of ten milligrams of Morphine, the usual dose. If all calculations are correct, the subject should be clear, coherent and physically pain-free within an hour. If the subject experiences further pain after this hour the process has been a success." He put the recorder away and looked the little boy in the eyes, dark brown against blood red. "Good afternoon, Izaya. Do you recognise me?"_

_Izaya swallowed._

"_O-Orihara... Shirou." Speaking was hard; his mouth felt so very dry, and his throat hurt. "Father."_

_The man nodded._

"_Your surgery seems to have been a success, boy. Soon you will be able to take the place God intended for you."_

"_My... place?"_

"_Mankind is wicked, child. Sinners and demons, all of them. But soon they will all have to face judgement at our hands. You will separate the weeds from the roses, Izaya. You will look into their hearts, and with your judgement you will save them."_

_The older Orihara's eyes shone with excitement, and Izaya shrunk in his bed. Daddy was so scary when he spoke like that! How could Izaya save anyone if he was such a worthless, filthy being as his father made him out to be? How could he save anyone else when he couldn't even save himself?/_

Izaya sat straight up in his bed, awoken by the sound of his own scream. He scrambled out of bed as if was suddenly filled venomous snakes and ran for the stash of hard liquor in his kitchen. Outside, the sun was blazing, scorching anything not under the protection of whatever shade the trees provides, making people's shoes stick to the concrete and ice-cream to go runny almost before you opened it. With badly shaking hands, the informant managed to unscrew the lid of a bottle of something alcoholic – he didn't bother to check the label – and downed a third of the bottle in one go. If he could have such dreams, it means he wasn't nearly as drunk as he should be. What time was it, anyway? What day? Judging by the smell of both him and his clothes, he'd been sleeping for a while. God, he smelled like something had died on him! He should probably shower. Nah, later. He had to get drunk first. He had to get the memories of that man, those eyes, those hands, out of his head first. The end was in sight, but he had to get there first. He had to say goodbye to Shizuo before he could leave. Before he could disappear. Before he could finally die and not have to feel anything.

The truth was that Izaya had always know he'd die young. Born under a bad sign, hated by his only family, pushed out into a world he didn't understand, a world which looked upon him as a monster, with no one there to keep him on the straight and narrow. He'd been burning his candle both ways since the start, and he knew he'd die young and die messy if no one could come in, beat him into submission and save him from himself. But no one ever did. Because Izaya was a freak and a monster, and we all know that monsters feel no love, so they deserve no love.

A sob escaped him.

Even if someone (Shizuo), did come and save him from his imminent death now, he was too far gone. He couldn't even keep himself together for five minutes, the pain was so unbearable he almost couldn't breathe, and the eternal silence just seemed like such a blessing to him. He didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't want to drink, fuck and get high anymore. He no longer cared for salvation. He wanted this to end.

"I'm just gonna come say goodbye, Shizu-chan," he whispered. "Just gonna say bye-bye, and you're not gonna understand a thing, and then you'll be mad and chase me out... One last time. I just want to see all that power unleashed one last beautiful time..."

Yes. It really was time to go.

Slowly, painfully, he picked himself up from where he'd fallen to the floor and went to get ready. It was time to say goodbye to the only person who could ever have saved him.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

Phew! Finally! Another angst-ridden chapter, Khordie-style. I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but both my life and school decided to throw a madness parade around here for the last few months. But here it is! Like I promised.

So, yeah. Izaya is breaking even faster now. Shizuo is clueless and lost. Shinra and Celty are wearing their nerves on the outside from worry. Oh dear, how will this end? I know, but you don't.

Izaya's dad... Well, he really is a complete megalomaniac ass-hat, and yes, I was angry at him when I wrote him.

Hopefully I can cram out another chapter before the semester starts in September, but no guarantees as I am taking summer courses as well.

Thank you all for reading this!

Reviews?


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